"
"I could wish it were a week. I shall do precisely what you desire."
John Penhallow caught some signal of amused surprise in Leila's looks. He
checked his own smile of partnership in mirth at Ann Penhallow's sudden
subjugation, feeling that with Leila the intimacies of mirth were at an
end.
Ann took her knitting and went out upon the back porch. "How many rows
can I knit until I hear? No, Leila--I want to be alone. Here is a note
from Mr. Rivers. The Bishop met him at Harrisburg and carried him off to
Philadelphia. I hope there is no scheme to take him away. Now go, dear."
She heard the voices of the McGregors as they went upstairs. She sat
alone and waited.
Among the friends who know me only through my summer-born books, there
must be many who can recall such hours of suspense as Ann Penhallow
endured. The clock in the hall struck ten. A little later her keen sense
made her aware of the faint odour of ether from the open windows on the
second floor. She let fall her work, went down the garden path, and
walked with quick steps among the firstlings of June. Then came Tom
McGregor swiftly, and in his smiling face she read good news.
"It is all right," he said; "it is over. There was a fracture of the
fragile inner layer of the bone--a piece was pressing on the brain--it
was easily removed.
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